Home
by OzZMaN
Summary: A short one shot regarding the fate of Arthas' body after his defeat atop the Frozen Throne.  Mainly centers on Jaina and her feelings surrounding the entire event. Please R&R!


_Home_

Twilight was on the horizon, only the faintest licks of color to break through the dull clouds providing any hope that the dawn would ever come. It had been a long struggle, and Valiance Keep was still darkened, only the occasional torch and lamp lighting small patches of ground. Walking along the pier, Jaina pulled her cloak around her shoulders, as if that alone would stave off the chill that seemed to have seeped into her very bones. She felt tired, so very tired, but it was over. At least, for now. Perhaps under normal circumstances her life would return to some semblance of normality.

If, she were someone else.

With every step she took, she felt weakened. Eventually, she stopped moving entirely and simply stood upright, barely breathing, feeling as if she were on the verge of collapse. She was beyond grief now, beyond sorrow. There were no more tears left, and if there were, she was fairly certain the frosted dawn would freeze them in place. She had not slept in days, and she felt it would be even longer before she finally did. The siege on Icecrown was over, and they had succeeded, but had paid for that success with many lives. The scourge had been overpowered and routed to the far corners of the north, and with Bolvar now in control of their numbers they would no longer be a threat to the people of Azeroth. And the Lich King was finally dead.

Arthas was dead.

No matter how many times she repeated it to herself she felt as if it were a lie. Despite everything, despite the thousands of innocents he'd tortured and slain, despite the battle that nearly killed them all, he seemed invincible. Perhaps, she still saw him as he once was. Perhaps, she still naively held onto the hope that he could be saved.

Her thoughts, or rather her attempt to make sense of her thoughts was interrupted by the sound of heavy footfalls. The unmistakable sound of plate boots on the compacted ice broke the near silence of the moment, and as she turned she was greeted with a face as drained as hers. Tirion Fordring stood several steps away, looking even more tired and worn than he had been the night before. The events of Icecrown weighed as heavily on him as it did her. The older paladin's lined face seemed even more so, his face sombre in the dull, grayish light that crept slowly along the docks, finally giving at least some small light to the gloom surrounding them. By the look of his expression, and the dark circles under his eyes, he hadn't slept either. He wore an expression she had never seen before, and she hoped after this she would never see it again.

Guilt.

She wanted to say something to the man, something that would put his mind at ease, but nothing would come forth. It was as if all sense of communication had left her. She merely stared at him with heavy eyes. The docks fell silent again, both of them looking to each other as if to find some way to break the melancholy. Jaina knew the battle had taken a lot from Tirion, even before Northrend, and she couldn't think of anything that could even come close to what she wanted to say. She honestly wanted to ask if it were really over, if everything she had witnessed had really happened.

She never had to speak a word. A heavy gloved hand rested itself on her shoulder, strong and comforting, exuding that aura of peace and comfort that Tirion was so well known for. An aura that could never be dampened, though she could feel his hand tremble, ever so slightly. She was surprised the man had held it together for so long, and so she simply let his presence wash over her. At this point she just needed company. It was a long time before he spoke, and that normally deep baritone shook with the force of speaking to someone he knew was grieving for something no one could ever understand, not even a man with his experience in life.

"We leave soon, my lady. Are you ready to go home?"

Jaina merely nodded, too emotionally drained to do much more than that, though she managed to croak out a small 'I am ready.'

Tirion studied her face closely, his dark eyes unreadable, his brow furrowing farther. He drew in a sharp breath. "I am sorry...I had no-"

Jaina cut him short with a sad smile and a shake of her head. "No Highlord. You hold no fault. This was the only way it could have ended." Inside, she wished it had ended differently, but she understood that this was how it had to be. At this very moment she wished she could have taken his place, but she knew that was foolish thinking. She had people who relied on her. Theramore needed her, the Alliance needed her. She could never abandon the people who gave her a reason to keep going.

Highlord Fordring dropped his hand to his side, smiling, if sadly. At least someone still had Arthas' strong spirit and love for their people. "Perhaps you are right."

The silence enveloped them again and Jaina stood, still motionless, finding small comfort in the one person who believed. The one person who listened when she pleaded and the one who believed Arthas deserved a proper burial. After all, that was the reason she still stood here. They would board the ship at dawn, headed for Stormwind, carrying a cargo both precious and unspoken. Something that was so important to both Tirion and Jaina that only the two of them, King Varian Wrynn and a small handful of Tirion's highest ranking paladins knew of it.

A large marble casket, beautifully carved with the crest of Lordaeron, no other adornments save for a sapphire set in the crest. It was sealed unyieldingly by magics known only to Jaina and Tirion, and covered with the silken flag of Lordaeron. A large gilded libram along with a large hammer crossed over the top, covered in nicks and scratches and dulled from heavy use. A smaller coffer held the same seal but instead of the weapon and libram there were a horse's reins, old and worn from years of use and frost damage.

Arthas and Invincible were crossing the sea one last time. She was doing what she had always promised to do.

Bring him home.

The sound of a bell broke them both from silence as guards and officers filed out onto the docks from the keep, making way for Varian, heading the procession of paladins that carried the fallen king towards the waiting ship. He stood tall, though Jaina could see the slight dampness to his eyes that gave him away. The procession made its way along the docks and up the ship's plank, the crusaders carrying the large box down below deck, followed by the smaller coffer. Jaina and Tirion followed up the rear, with Jaina pulling up her hood to shield her face from both the first rays of sun that had broken through the clouds, and to hide the freely falling tears she had thought were dry.

Remaining above deck, she watched the officers quietly file back off the docks and the crewmen pull up the plank and haul anchor, slowly, the ship beginning its journey away from Valiance Keep and into the ocean. King Varian and Highlord Fording had since disappeared below deck, but Jaina remained above as the ship pulled away. It was here she bid goodbye to Northrend. There was still the matter of Bolvar, but this was where her involvement ended. She had done what she came here to do and now it was time to head home. She watched the bay slowly fade from view, and it was only when the deckhand reminded her it was safer down below did she finally head below to wait out the rest of the trip.

Her venture below deck found not the paladins guarding the coffin, but Tirion himself. He stood, though tired, with libram in hand. His eyes were closed and if it weren't for his lips moving silently she'd have thought him asleep standing up. No, she had seen this done too many times before to not know what it was. These were last rites. Rather than cause any more awkwardness or guilt, she decided to leave him be and retired to her quarters. She was tired, but she knew she'd not have any sleep until this was done.

The ship pulled silently into the harbor a few days later just before dawn, but unlike the officers and militia at Valiance, the docks were nearly empty save for the standard Stormwind Guard. Jaina had finally gotten some small comfort in a little sleep and a warm bath, but her heart was still irreparably heavy and broken. She was the first to appear on deck, dressed in her purple velvet robes, but donning a black silken cloak. Over her robes she wore the old gold and blue tabard of Lordaeron. Tirion appeared shortly after, in full armor, libram and Ashbringer included. He too wore a black cloak and had forgone his Argent tabard for the crest of Lordaeron. Varian, though dressed in full regalia, wore a black cloak and Lordaeron's Tabard as well, his own show of respect for the one who had once been his closest childhood friend.

A hand on her shoulder indicated that Varian was a troubled as she. She looked over her shoulder to see him looking up at the sky which seemed to roll with dark, purplish clouds. His hand, though seemingly trying to give her comfort might have been more to gather his own nerve. She gave his hand a gentle pat, as if to reassure him that it was perfectly alright to feel the way he did. They were all mixed on how to feel about Arthas. No one really knew how to feel as each of them had seen him in different ways. His reaction was simply to attempt a small smile and look over to Tirion, who seemed himself as nervous as the others. The moment seemed to last forever and Jaina felt as if she'd been holding her breath waiting for the crusaders to appear above deck with Arthas and Invincible.

The plank was finally lowered and the Crusaders fell into step, maneuvering the heavy coffin on their shoulders collectively. She wasn't sure if they knew who was inside, but if they did, they said nothing. Varian was the first to head down the plank, flanked by his guards, and Tirion motioned her to his side as they fell into step behind the king. The pallbearers marched in perfect unison, the cobblestones echoing with the long slow procession along the waterfront and up the stairways leading to the canals. The sound of the procession marching in step was similar to a drum pounding out a slow dirge. People had begun coming out of their homes to stand and watch, others peeking out from windows and doors, a mixture of respect and confusion filling many of their faces. They had no idea the coffin contained the body of a man the world once feared. All they knew is that yet another had fallen and like so many before them, was being returned home.

The procession wound its way through the canals, heading towards the Cathedral of Light in the center of the capital. It felt as if the walk was endless and Jaina felt her knees almost give way on more than one occasion, barely able to keep herself moving, and would probably have tumbled if it weren't for the occasional hand to steady her offered by the Highlord.  
>The procession moved forward with nothing but the gentle drumming of armored feet, the townsfolk understanding there was someone of importance being brought to the cathedral, but they had seen so many burials no one raised a question. The cathedral loomed before the procession, almost glowing despite the gloominess of the skies above. Jaina knew this was as far as she would go. She would not be there for the burial, just for the trip to the Cathedral to bid him one final farewell. She felt as if her legs were made of lead as she made her way up the stairs and into the echoing halls to the sound of the slow march of the paladins behind her. She thought there might have been a rumble of thunder but it was impossible to tell now, the echoing of feet and the rapid beat of her heavy heart drowning it out.<p>

One of the altar boys who had watched the procession had piped up asking Tirion just who was inside the coffin. Tirion looked at the boy for a long moment before smiling sadly and simply replying:

"A hero, my boy."

With a soft grinding noise the casket was lowered to the floor. The pallbearers and the bystanders, along with the other paladins in the church were ushered out and the doors closed. It was only several moments later when Jaina finally broke, sinking to the floor in front of the casket that held the remains of the only person she would ever love deeply enough to mourn unabashedly. She let out a wail, a soft yet keening cry, full of grief and sorrow she could find no other way to express. Eerie and piercing, yet pure, it echoed around the room, bouncing back as if a chorus of angels were weeping. She had lost control of something she had fought for years against. As the tears streamed forth, tumbling down her cheeks and leaving their marks upon the white marble in an almost steady stream, she whispered to him, something inaudible to anyone but her and the man who lay within the magically sealed stone.

Varian, at the sight of her, turned away to leave the room, for no other reason than to hide the pity for someone so broken by betrayal. Tirion merely stood quietly, his eyes as wet as any other. To see someone so young as Jaina, face something so soul breaking as this resonated within him, stirring a mix of pity for the poor young mage on her knees with her world crumbling around her, and deep sorrow for the events that led up to such a conclusion. He blamed himself in a small way, though he knew there was nothing he could ever have done to prevent it. He knew the best thing he could do was let her cry. She had been waiting years to let go, and now would be her only chance, and he would much rather her express it now than to try and hold on to it any longer. With a soft sigh he moved away to join Varian, as they stood in silence, both fighting back the urge to try and offer some comfort to the woman. This was her time to say goodbye to the man she loved, and any interference would certainly backfire.

Neither of the men had counted the time, but it was a long while before Jaina had fallen silent. She knelt in silence, the numbness finally slowing the tears to a stop. With a nod, Varian headed to round up the crusaders outside to prepare for the burial that would take place that evening after nightfall. Tirion, as gently as he could muster approached the young mage, and with a fatherly smile, lifted her to her feet assuredly. As she stood, using the paladin lord's arm as a crutch, fighting with every inch of her being to compose herself, she managed to whisper her last words to Arthas just loud enough for them to hear.

"Light knows you have suffered long enough, Arthas. It's time to rest. May your tortured soul find peace."

Tirion nodded. "Aye, Jaina. He will rest now. This I can promise you."

Jaina left the cathedral that evening with a heart not so heavy as it went in, knowing his journey was over and nothing could twist his soul any further. She would not see the burial, nor did she ever make mention of it. She knew where he was, and that was all she needed. She trusted Fordring to take care of him and knew finally, she could let him go. Both she and Varian could move on, and let the memory of the man who suffered more than any should have in the hopes of saving his people, fade. It now fell to her. She had to take up her place as the head of the survivors of Lordaeron. She would ensure that his sacrifice was never forgotten.

He was home.


End file.
